


Merry Belated Christmas

by OnceUponaFangirl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 15:02:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5544389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceUponaFangirl/pseuds/OnceUponaFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Christmas gets overlooked. Especially between becoming the Dark One, turning your true love into a Dark One, watching said true love die twice, and then going to the Underworld to save him. So when things go back to normal, why not celebrate Christmas a month later?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Belated Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kat2609](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kat2609).



It haunts her dreams, her paranoia and worst nightmare had come to life. She watched him struggle for breath, the life draining from his eyes and blood caking her hands, the same hands that felt his heartbeat slowly cease under her palm, until he lie dead on the wet grass beneath them. A part of her died with him. It’s a loss she feels straight to her core, shaking her entire being (confirming that maybe she is cursed) and all she knows is uncontrolled earth-shattering pain. Days later she finds him as Hades’s right-hand man, once again a slave to the servitude of the ruthless. Hades allowed them to follow through with their plan however. (It's not every day that the god sees a happy ending for those bound to spend an eternity in hell - for those whose love could not be stifled by death.) Emma finds herself longing for a similar fate as Regina splits her heart, the pain so visceral that she  _ knows _ there could be nothing more agonizing. But as she looks into Killian’s eyes, she realizes she was wrong and that losing him was far worse. And when Regina shoves Killian’s half of Emma's heart into his chest, she feels whole again. Before departing from the Underworld, they spend a few hours with Liam and her family. She's never seen Killian happier, with Liam at his left, her hand interlocked with his and her head resting on his shoulder. It's a perfect moment amidst all the anguish they've been living in and the heaviness that still weighs on the both of them. 

 

(She glues herself to his side, the curve of his body pressed against hers the anchor she uses to remind herself that this is reality. He’s here. They share a heart. He’s alive.) 

 

Their first night back is spent in the new house that they had yet to enjoy together. In a daze of heartache after leaving Liam, they take an early exit from Granny’s and walk home in the brisk January air. She nestles her head in the crook of his neck, arms interlocked as their steps languidly sync together. The soft cushioned indentation of his skin from her fingers can be felt through his jacket. The muscle of his arm flexing under her grip makes her worry that her hold is too tight and will leave bruises in its wake, but the idea that he can have such fragile markings again resonates deep in her soul. Her heart is beating inside him because they got a second chance and her worry shifts to melancholic solace. She kisses his neck when they approach the front door and he pulls her closer as they walk in. The walls and furniture of their home are marked with hurtful words that they are determined to write over, rediscovering each other with every touch, caress, and stroke of tongue. It's sovereign and gentle desperation, each kiss a promise for the future, an apology for actions done while tethered to darkness, a vow of unconditional, vulnerable, all-consuming love. 

 

They sleep for the first time in over two months, wrapped in each other’s arms and navy sheets. When Emma bolts awake with sweat sticking to her skin and tears streaming silently down her face sobbing  _ I watched you die and I couldn’t save you this time _ , he pulls her into him, planting tentative kisses wherever his lips reach and mumbling apologies and reassurances into the warmth of her flesh, catching her tears with the round of his thumb.

 

Slowly, as they spark back to life (back to themselves), so does the town. She first notices it outside Granny’s, icicle lights hanging from the gutters and a white wire reindeer by the door.  “It's January,” she mutters to herself more than Killian.

 

“Aye, love. That's what the calendar on the refrigerator door says.”

 

“But there's reindeer and lights and Santa’s up everywhere.” 

 

“The white bearded fat man in the red suit? With the sack? Swan, I gave up trying to understand the perplexities of your realm long ago.” 

 

“But Christmas was almost a whole month ago…” 

 

Killian nods in agreement, confusion in the set of his brow as he sips the black coffee. 

 

“You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?”

 

“It’s rare that I do, love.” 

 

She laughs, a real genuine laugh - dimples and all - and he smiles at her. This is what they've fought tooth and nail for, these stolen, sacred moments of happiness. Killian versus pop culture had become what she mentally catalogued conversations like these, which wound up in more family movie nights than should be acceptable, but he soaked in the learning. His face lit up whenever he understood a reference - that was her favorite part after the initial explanation. “It’s a holiday. The 25th of December. There’s a lot of tradition and history behind it - I’m sure between Henry, Belle, and I, you’ll be completely educated on all the ridiculousness by the end of the week.” She takes a bite of her onion ring, licking the grease off her lips. “But first, I’m going to ask Granny why the decorations are all still up.”

 

She finds out that a town meeting had been held during their absence, in which the citizens of Storybrooke had actually voted to postpone Christmas. (Not without an unforgettable speech from Granny Lucas on the impact and importance of the Savior and her misfit family, how everyone would still be living in a daze without them, or most likely dead, condemned to the place Killian and company had just returned from.) The townsfolk were just waiting for the pirate and his Savior princess to notice before proceeding with any celebrating. 

 

Henry, however, had already been hiding mounds of gifts in his room. And when Killian asked, the young author gave four hours worth of information on the winter holiday, including songs, movies, “the whole Santa Claus biz - which mom still thinks I believe in but I know it's all a lie,” gifts, and trees. 

 

“There's also the mistletoe,” Henry said. “Which you're supposed to kiss under. But don't be gross, okay? There are some things I do  _ not _ want to see. “ Killian had chuckled at that, trying to hide the flush of his cheeks with his flask as he pictured  _ just _ the kind of kiss the lad was warning against.

 

They hiked through the snow to find the perfect tree, even though Emma insisted that picking out a tree a month after Christmas didn’t seem necessary. It was beginning to overwhelm, the crowded family, new house, carols throughout the streets, and the gifts she now had only days to find, let alone think of. Growing up, Christmas had been a time of misery, a reminder that she was abandoned and alone. She rarely bought for gifts for anyone, or received them for that matter. This is the Christmas she had always dreamed of and yet-

 

“If you’re gonna help out, you can at least do it right,” Regina scoffs. 

 

“What am I doing wrong?” 

 

“Gingerbread houses aren't built to scale. We want to be able to fit the food on a table. Cut smaller slices.”

 

“Wow, I’m sorry Betty Crocker. Would you like to take over, it would seem I’m useless in my own home.” 

 

“Oh stop it, you two. Be civil. It’s  _ Christmas. _ ” Mary Margaret cuts in, taking the sweet potatoes out of the oven. 

 

It takes everything in Emma not to bite the bait for that one, but she stays silent and begins slicing much thinner pieces. From her peripheral she could see a slight smile on the Queen’s face. She doesn’t have it in her to stay stressed and she peeks through to the other room to find Killian and Henry lost in a conversation she can’t decipher. She feels the anxiety lift from her chest, replaced with warmth and joy at the sight of her true loves. 

 

_ This _ is what she'd always envisioned Christmas with a real family to be like; playful banter and secret smiles, kisses under the mistletoe in the hallway and presents stacked under the glistening tree. The smell of ginger and peppermint, the promise of home. 

 

She catches Killian's eye as they start transferring food from the kitchen to the dining room table. He smiles back at her, a soft and knowing smile with love radiating from the deep blue of his irises. It’s a look that, not too long ago, she was certain she'd never see again. 

 

Emma moves to him then, an unconscious pull she can't seem to fight. His blue eyes seem brighter in the glow from the crackling fire, love pouring out from the depths of his soul as he looks at her. It takes her breath away, how much this man loves her and she him. 

 

“Dinner’s almost ready,” she says softly, running her fingers through Killian’s hair to brush it away from his eyes. 

 

“It smells delightful, love.” 

 

She sits to his left as they eat, fingers curled around the cool metal of his hook. The food is amazing (it should be - they Googled recipes and spent the past three hours on it) but it’s nothing compared to the people around her. It’s a reminder of how far she’s come, how far they have all come since the fateful day Henry found her in Boston. When the conversation switches to tales of adventures in the Enchanted Forest, it’s the first time she feels that she has a story to contribute. She’s met most of these people now, whether while in the Underworld or lurking around Storybrooke. Her hand moves to Killian’s back when he tells a story of Liam and himself from centuries ago, one of his favorite memories with his older brother. 

 

(Of the many firsts tonight, this is not one she saw coming. He’ll tell her later of how something David mentioned reminded him of the incident and ever since returning to the land of the living, he’s felt a strange sense of closure. He’ll tell her that it’s not as painful to remember and considering they met the late sibling, it felt more fitting than ever. This is what Liam would want.) 

 

As the night goes on, the pile of gifts grows with each parcel she receives. Emma gives Killian a framed picture that she had taken in the Underworld of herself with the two Jones brothers. She cries when he gives her a photo album. Half the pictures she hadn’t even known were taken - candid sweet moments between her and Killian that her mother or Henry captured. 

 

“We would both get each other the same type of gift,” Emma sniffles, wiping the tears out from under her eyes. “I love it, I love you. Thank you.” She smiles into his collarbone when he pulls her into him. Aware of her audience, she angles her head to place a quick kiss to his lips. “Thank you - all of you. This was the best Christmas, let alone not Christmas I’ve ever had.” 

 

Later, as the guests slowly trickle out and depart to their own homes, Emma and Killian lay on the couch with intertwined limbs and gentle touches by the embers of the dying fire. She thanks him again, this time sealed with a kiss she’d rather not have her family witness. 

 

“How was your first Christmas? Well a late not-Christmas, but Christmas all the same.” 

 

“I think it’s safe to say that I’ve a new favorite holiday, Swan.” 

 

“Please,” she emphasizes the word, dragging it on as she sits up to face him. “You’d say that about any holiday spent with me.” 

 

“Aye, love. You’re right,” Even through the flirtatious tone, she can hear how genuine he is. She opens her mouth to speak, throat choked up at the way he is looking at her like she crafted the universe in it's entirety - reverent and adoringly. “But this one has a mistletoe.” he adds with the suggestive quirk of his brow, always taking it back to this ease when he can tell she feels too much. (His way of comforting her when raw emotions are overbearing.) 

 

“Well if it's  _ the rules _ ,”  she swipes her tongue across her upper lip, eyes darting to the ceiling to reveal the mistletoe she had poofed there. “Then I guess we should comply.” Emma smirks, bringing him down to her lips and laughing when he chases them. She's about to say something about Valentine's Day being around the corner, but then his mouth is hot on hers and he tastes like Christmas. So she wraps her legs his knees and melts into his touch. 

  
This is home. This is Christmas, no matter what's written on the refrigerator door. 


End file.
